


Lune

by Astrals (Evoxine)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Background Character Death, Friends to Lovers, Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 02:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17235512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Astrals
Summary: For Christmas this year, Keith finally musters up the courage to give a very special present to a very special someone.For Sheith Secret Santa 2018.





	Lune

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving me such a lovely prompt <3  
> I hope you had a wonderful Christmas, and may 2019 be an amazing year for you!

It’s been over two years since he last stepped foot into Hogwarts’ halls.

Staring up at the open heavy-set doors, Keith is suddenly unable to breathe past the thick bundle of nerves currently clogging up his throat. His trunk is floating patiently by his side and his winter robes are weighing down his shoulders, but Keith just can’t seem to pick up his feet and _move_. Chewing compulsively on his bottom lip, Keith takes a second to think – he doesn’t remember his heart pounding away like this during his sorting or even during his first Quidditch match. In fact, there’s only one other instance that could possibly match up to this, but thinking about that will likely make things worse, so Keith sucks in a ragged breath and walks inside.

His father had fallen drastically ill just before Keith was due to start his fifth year at Hogwarts. Despite his parents’ insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Keith decided to put his time at school on hold in favour of spending valuable time with them. It’s a decision he definitely would’ve regretted not making – his father passed away over the summer, and all the memories they had created over the last couple of years comforted Keith through the grieving process.

Amidst all of that, he miraculously managed to stay on top of his studies, so much so that he was able to skip a whole year and go straight into his final year of N.E.W.T.s. Going back to school would bring a sense of normalcy back into his life, Krolia had said, and Keith found himself agreeing to re-enrol back at Hogwarts. The small, pleased smile that had graced his mother’s face is an image Keith still clings to during the darkest hours of nights.

It’s early, soft sunlight filtering through the windows as the halls remain quiet, students still deeply asleep for another half hour or so. Somehow, Keith remembers how to return to the Gryffindor common room, easily navigating his way back to the Fat Lady as though he had never left.

Only when he’s gazing up at her does he realise one very important detail. He doesn’t know the new password. It’s clear that she recognises him, and judging from the pitying look on her face, she somehow also knows about his recent loss. But she can’t go against the school rules and let him in without a password, and Keith gets that.

“Well,” he tells her, setting his trunk down on the floor in front of her canvas and pocketing his wand. “I’ll be back after I find someone who –”

“Keith?”

Oh, and there goes his heart again, rattling desperately within the confines of his ribcage. Even the Fat Lady titters audibly, a faint wash of pink rising up in her pale cheeks.

“Is that you?”

Keith licks his lips, the dryness of his tongue catching on the swell.

“Yeah,” he manages. “Hey, Shiro.”

They’re on opposite ends of the staircase, and as Shiro takes one step up, Keith takes one down.

“Wow, it’s been a while, huh?” Wonderment is evident on Shiro’s face, brought to life by those painfully handsome features.

Over the years, they had kept in contact with each other through letters – some of which spanned multiple pages – but this is the first time they have laid eyes on each other ever since the day Keith left.

Shiro’s hair has grown, Keith notes. Snowy strands brush past the curve of his clavicles and Keith wonders if they’re as soft as he remembers. He’s got a tan, too – his scar stands out a little more against honeyed skin, and Keith thinks he’s beautiful.

“It really has. You look good,” he says, trying not to wince at the roughness of his voice. Behind him, the Fat Lady lets out a dreamy sigh in agreement.

“So do you, Keith.” Shiro scratches at the back of his neck, cheeks tinged pink and eyes bright. “You’ve grown, ah, a lot. Are you almost as tall as me now?”

They meet in the middle and Keith can’t help but lean in ever-so-slightly just to let the freshness of Shiro’s aftershave fill his senses. The familiar scent feels like home.

“Still a little shorter, it seems,” he answers, looking up at the only person in this entire castle he’d be willing to die for. At that, Shiro breaks out into a smile and pulls Keith into his arms, a large hand splayed out over the small of Keith’s back.

“It’s really nice to have you back,” Shiro says. Keith, with his cheek pressed against the warm curve of Shiro’s neck, can almost feel the steady _thud thud thud_ of his heart.

“It’s nice to be back,” he replies.

The hug ends way too soon for Keith’s taste, but over the recent years, he has come to realise that he can’t always get what he wants.

“I didn’t think you’d arrive this early.”

“Yeah, wanted to get in before the halls are too busy to navigate,” Keith explains. “Didn’t count on not seeing a single professor along the way here, though. I was just about to go and find someone who can give me the password when you spotted me.”

Shiro turns to smile at the Fat Lady – unsurprisingly, she swoons, and it’s a clear commentary on his life when Keith finds himself empathising.

“I can help you with that. Perks of being Head Boy, along with early morning rounds.”

 

 

 

  
Keith had half-expected things to be weird and awkward for at least a few days. He did not expect to feel as though he had never left. The only thing that’s different is the fact that he’s no longer in the same year as most of his friends, but Keith can barely consider that to be an issue when he looks at the bigger picture.

Having spent more time than necessary unpacking his things and introducing himself to his new roommates, Keith ends up being a little late for breakfast – it’s easy to be spotted if you’re one of the last ones to trickle into the Great Hall, and that fact is highlighted by Lance’s shrieking of his name the second he passes through the doors. Dozens of heads swivel around to look at him, and for the first time in years, Keith gets the urge to deck Lance.

It’s funny how life turns out sometimes. They had started out as rivals, always trying to one-up the other person in classes and out on the pitch, despite being Chasers on the same Quidditch team.

Things changed after their second year when they began to accept the fact that they were talented at different things. Keith worked better alone, excelling at subjects like DADA and Transfiguration, and eventually switching from being a Chaser to the team’s Seeker. Lance, on the other hand, likes working with people, and so he did best in Potions, Charms, and Muggle Studies. With the sources of antagonism finally out of the way, they were able to pave their way towards a solid friendship, one that Keith keeps close to heart.

“Could you be _any_ louder,” Keith hears Pidge admonish. Next to her, Hunk laughs and looks away from his large stack of pancakes to give Keith a merry wave. Ever since the day they met on the Hogwarts Express during their first year, Pidge and Hunk have never eaten at their respective tables, their blue and yellow robes always standing out amongst the strip of red.

In fact, the Gryffindor table is, without question, the most colourful one. Shiro brings the green (coincidentally Keith’s favourite colour), and when he sees his colourful group of friends beaming at him from across the Hall, Keith suddenly wants to cry. God, he’s missed them so much.

When he finally makes it over to them, Allura is the first one to rise from her seat and pull him in for a hug. Her white-gold hair – inherited from her Veela mother – is silk-soft against his cheek, and the floral scent of her perfume brings to mind a perfect spring.

“Good to have you back,” she smiles. A little mischief slips into her gaze and she leans forward again to whisper into Keith’s ear, “Quidditch tryouts are next week. I’ll willingly give you your spot back as long as you show up. Hasn’t been the same without you, Keith.”

He laughs, “I’ll be there.”

Pidge leans across the table with her hand out, and Keith can’t help the grin that spreads across his face when he gives her the handshake that they’ve created for themselves all those years ago. It’s been so long since he’d last done it, but muscle memory is a wonderful thing. Speaking of Pidge…

“Where’s Matt?”

“He got a _girlfriend_ ,” Pidge says with a teasing grimace. “Spends all his free time with her nowadays. He’s probably somewhere over there.” She flaps a hand at the end of the Ravenclaw table and it takes Keith a quick scan to notice the familiar mop of light brown hair.

“Hey man,” Hunk pipes up, chasing down a mouthful of pancakes with some fresh milk. “How have you not put on any weight with all the snacks I sent?”

“Turned it into muscle,” Keith grins, settling into the space that Shiro seemed to have saved for him.

Lance prods at his arm and scoffs. “What muscle?”

“Muscle you don’t have,” Keith retorts. He grabs a slice of buttered toast and takes a big bite, trying to distract himself from the gentle press of Shiro’s arm against his. As it turns out, it isn’t the toast that helps with the distraction – instead, it’s the presence of someone else next to Allura.

“Oh,” Shiro says, noticing Keith’s curious gaze. “This is Lotor. He transferred from Beauxbatons last year. Lotor, this is Keith. He took a couple of years off of school for personal reasons, but he’s finally back.”

Lotor has incredibly sharp eyes, Keith notes, and long hair just as white as Shiro’s. He still prefers Shiro’s though.

“Hi,” he offers. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Lotor says pleasantly, eyes following the movement of Shiro’s hand as it reaches out for a fried egg before depositing it on Keith’s plate. “I’ve heard a lot about –” He pauses. “You.”

Attention momentarily shifted onto Shiro and the egg so cutely placed atop his slice of toast, it takes a while for Keith to register what Lotor just said. But before he can ask the Slytherin what he meant, someone shouts Lotor’s name and the student rises to his feet.

“Shit, I forgot I had prefect duties – don’t kill me, Shiro. I gotta go, see you guys later.”

Keith, a little discombobulated, only returns to eating after a concerned Shiro pats him on the thigh.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I guess I still can’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that I’m back.”

“I can’t either, but I’m happy you are.”

They trade soft smiles, Lance gags behind their backs, and a small group of girls down the table stare unabashedly at them with flushed cheeks and swooning smiles. Unsurprisingly, they remain blissfully oblivious, and even Allura can’t help but shake her head with poorly masked disbelief.

 

 

 

  
It’s a windy Wednesday and they’re all in The Three Broomsticks, the seven of them packed around a table with Keith somehow ending up squished against Shiro’s side. Not that he’s complaining, of course, not when Shiro’s sweater is nice and soft against the sliver of exposed skin by his hip. Unthinkingly, he burrows closer to Shiro’s warmth – the temperature outside has suddenly dipped over the past few days and Keith is not dressed appropriately for the weather whatsoever.

He’s got a pint of mead in his hands, the alcohol doing a decent job of distracting Keith from the sudden surge of stress he’s experienced over the past few weeks. While he’s not exactly behind on his studies, he has gotten quite unaccustomed to how things work in an actual school. When he was homeschooled, he was able to set his own deadlines and structure his own lesson plans, so it’s a little jarring having to suddenly readjust to Hogwarts, much less during his final year. On top of that, he’s had to squeeze in extra Quidditch practice to make up for the fact that he hasn’t ridden on a broom in over a year.

Needless to say, Keith really needed this brief respite.

Lance has just managed to goad Lotor into an arm wrestling match, the latter trying his damnedest to suppress an amused smirk as he provides just enough resistance for a stalemate. To his right, Pidge picks away at an apple pie and lets Allura wave her wand over her head – thin strands of flowers weave their way into the short strands of her hair and blend in like they were made to be there. Allura catches him looking and she bestows upon him a bright smile, one that Keith returns without any hesitation.

“What’re you smiling about?”

Shiro’s voice pulls Keith out of the pleasant haze floating about in his mind and he looks over at him to see a faint flush riding high on his cheekbones. He angles his head a little closer to Shiro’s and catches a whiff of sweetness on his breath, courtesy of the half-finished glass of red currant rum in his hand.

“Never thought I’d ever get to see Pidge with flowers in her hair,” Keith says, gesturing to their friend. Pidge doesn’t even seem fazed.

“They’re pretty,” Shiro agrees, “but not as pretty as you with flowers in _your_ hair.”

“What –”

Shiro waves his wand and Keith feels something featherlight settle onto his head. Whatever Shiro had just conjured easily distracts Lotor and Lance finally gets the win he’s been working so hard for – he’s more than a little red in the face when he slams Lotor’s hand onto the surface of the table, and none of that colour is caused by alcohol. Lotor doesn’t even seem to care.

Reaching up, Keith’s fingers come into contact with soft petals and he follows their trail until he figures out what exactly is resting on his head.

“A flower crown?”

Shiro lifts a hefty shoulder and smiles. “Amaryllis and gardenias. They’re charmed to be fresh forever – if you decide to keep the crown, that is.”

“Oh,” Keith utters, “thanks, Shiro. I’ll definitely –”

“Shiro,” Lotor interjects, “you do know what those flowers symbolise, right?”

Shiro chokes on his drink, sending rum spraying in all directions of the table. Keith gets a few drops to the face. Someone cleans the mess up with a quick spell while Shiro coughs up a lung, the whiteness of his hair clashing painfully with the honest-to-god _fire_ currently burning in his cheeks.

A slow, roguish grin spreads across Lotor’s face. “So you _do_ know.”

A blanket of silence falls over their table, heavy and stifling, torn only when Lance pointedly clears his throat and leans forward.

“You can’t just leave us hanging like that, man. What do they symbolise?”

Shrugging, Lotor settles back in his seat and polishes off the rest of his treacle tart. Shiro’s got a constipated look on his face and Keith is close to choking on the sheer amount of smugness radiating off of Lotor’s frame.

“Well, Lancelot, that’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

 

 

 

  
Before he left Hogwarts to be with his family, Keith never dreamt. He’s exceptional at daydreaming, but when he would close his eyes at night, he would fall asleep in a swath of silent emptiness and wake up without the fading presence of images in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t really know the exact reason behind his sudden surge of dreams since then, but he suspects it has something to do with missing a few select persons.

The situation Keith finds himself in right now is strongly reminiscent of the first dream he has ever had – one that he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. (Alright, that might be because many of his dreams tend to revolve around this particular situation, so it would be quite hard for Keith to forget them all.)

His sweaty face is plastered against Shiro’s chest and he’s got those gloriously thick biceps wrapped around his shoulders. Keith can barely breathe, but what air he does manage to inhale smells like Shiro, so this? This is more than okay.

There’s a sea of red and gold all around him, fellow Gryffindors celebrating their first win since the Quidditch season started. Mixed in amongst the warm wash of colour are the other houses – even some Hufflepuffs, the one house Keith always feels slightly bad about beating.

“You did amazing out there,” Shiro says, beaming down at Keith’s squished face. Keith grabs handfuls of Shiro’s cloak and tries not to blush with pleasure at the praise. “Not that you don’t usually, of course. I’m happy I got the chance to see you fly again; no one flies like you, Keith.”

“There’s someone called Harry Potter,” Keith mumbles. It’s a half-hearted attempt at being modest – he’s actually blooming with pride on the inside. “And you, too”

“Potter and I have got nothing on you,” Shiro replies easily, voice soft. Keith stares up into those kind grey eyes and thinks, _oh my god I’m so in love with you._

In Keith’s dream, they’re in this exact same position, breathing each other’s air and feeling the rise and fall of each other’s chests. Instead of the Quidditch pitch, they were smack dab in the heart of a flourishing meadow, but Keith remembers Shiro saying something sweet, remembers himself blushing at the words, remembers leaning up to meet Shiro halfway –

One of Hunk’s hands bounces off Keith’s back, effectively jerking Keith back to reality.

“Great job, Keith! Guess all of us have to get used to losing more often now that you’re back, huh?”

He’s just about to offer up some weak argument for Hunk to please stop exaggerating the extent of his abilities when Allura appears out of nowhere and taps Shiro on the shoulder.

“Hey, stop hogging him all to yourself – I’m his Captain and I want a hug too.”

Shiro begins to stutter out an excuse, but Allura waves it aside and yanks Keith towards her, squeezing him once – very tightly – around the waist before letting go. “There. Now you can go back to Shiro.”

Wow, okay, Keith doesn’t remember the last time he’d been this embarrassed since he was a scrawny little seven-year-old. He had tripped over his own shoelaces, skidded down the cramped aisle between two rows of desks, and ended up at the feet of his elderly English teacher. To add salt to the injury, he had burst out in tears, swore like a sailor, _and_ called her “Grandma” in front of his entire class. Now, a whole decade later, he still hates Muggle schools.

At least he can deal with this bout of embarrassment by stepping back into Shiro’s personal bubble. Shiro doesn’t hug him again, but he does sling an arm across Keith’s shoulders to keep him close.

Gryffindor’s next game is not for another few months, but Keith is already filled with renewed determination to win it.

 

 

 

  
Keith is so focused on his DADA essay that he doesn’t notice Lotor slinking into the empty seat across from him until the prefect coughs pointedly. The sudden sound sends the nib of Keith’s quill skidding across the parchment and his heart jamming itself in the back of his throat.

“What,” he wheezes, barely reminding to keep his voice down. The new librarian is a stickler for silence and Keith really doesn’t want to get kicked out.

“Sorry about that,” Lotor says, tapping the tip of his wand on Keith’s scroll of parchment. The squiggly line vanishes into nothingness. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, if you did, you succeeded.” Keith sets his quill down and cracks a few knuckles. “Did you need something?”

When Lotor turns those azure eyes onto him, Keith can almost feel the chill seeping into his skin. For a few moments, neither of them speak as Lotor studies him and Keith fights the urge to chew compulsively on the inside of his cheek.

Then Lotor leans forward and raises a slim eyebrow.

“So what are you getting Shiro for Christmas?”

Keith did not see this coming.

“I – what?”

“Present? Shiro?”

“I haven’t given it much thought yet,” Keith replies, a little perplexed. “I’ve been busy with studying and stuff.”

Lotor nods with the air of someone who understands and reaches into the pockets of his cloak. “I suspected as much. Now, I’m going to give you your Christmas present a few weeks early, just so you can figure out what to get Shiro. Does that sound good to you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Lotor pushes a relatively small, flat parcel across the table. The edge bumps against Keith’s pot of ink.

“Once you see it, you’ll know what to get Shiro.” Lotor taps the surface with two fingers. “I promise.”

He’s gone in a silent billow of his robes, leaving a dumbfounded Keith behind to stare at the parcel like it would give him answers to questions that he doesn’t even know to ask.

Eventually, Keith tugs on the end of the bow looped around the parcel’s middle and tears the nondescript wrapping paper in half. Lifting the lid of the box, Keith reaches in and pulls out –

“Oh my god,” he croaks, heat immediately shooting up his face. His hand jerks, knuckles knocking over his ink pot and sending ink slowly blooming across the parchment.

Inside the box is a small handheld mirror, its frame ornate and intricately detailed.

 

 

 

  
The Kogane home is situated in the outskirts of a small town. Keith's father had built it himself from scratch while Krolia was pregnant, a modest two-story house that had everything they needed. Growing up, Keith had a lot of space outside to run about. He had his own treehouse, also built by his father and given a few magical tweaks by his mother, and a whole arsenal of toy broomsticks to ride. They were isolated enough for Krolia to be able to use magic freely and for Keith to have a pet owl, but still integrated within the community to not feel alone.

Keith doesn’t know of any other magical families in the area, but that’s okay. He was happy back then, and even though his father’s no longer around, he’s happy now.

Krolia had chosen not to sell the house after Keith’s father passed – something to remember him by, she said. So now, while Krolia busies herself in the kitchen with dinner, Keith finds himself standing in the doorway of his parents’, staring at the side of the bed where his father used to sleep.

There's a photograph resting on the side table, and while Keith is too far away to be able to see the faces, he knows it's a picture of the three of them. It was taken four years ago, when his father was still healthy, his parents on either side of him as they beamed up at the camera. It's a Muggle photograph – all the wizarding photographs that they have of him have been kept away, biding their time until mother and son have it in them to see the man they loved live and smile again, if only in frames.

“Keith,” Krolia calls from downstairs, “dinnertime!”

Keith lets his eyes linger on the picture for a few more seconds before he turns and heads down the stairs.

He's been so busy studying and reconnecting with friends that finding time to miss his mother was near to impossible. It's quite regretful now, he thinks, watching as she sets down a huge dish of homemade mac and cheese with extra crispy edges, just the way he likes it.

“Looks good, mom.” He smiles at her, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

Krolia has always been a very intuitive person, able to read people easily in most situations. Having spent Keith's whole life with him, her son is a wide open book to her by now. She steps around the table, pulls Keith close, and presses a kiss to his brow.

“One of my Muggle co-workers gave me an ice cream maker for Christmas; wanna come up with a recipe together after dinner?”

Keith nods quietly, eyes glistening, and makes a mental note to write her more often when he goes back to school.

“What do you say we eat in front of the TV?” Krolia adds.

Oh. Keith takes another look around and realises that the table suddenly seems far too big for just the two of them.

“Yeah,” he says, winding an arm around her waist. “I've been meaning to see what's new on Netflix anyway.”

It's almost two in the morning when they finally retire for bed. There's a huge container of ice cream in the freezer – salted maple bacon; it's surprisingly delicious – and they've watched three movies in a row. Krolia sends him off to his room with another kiss, one that Keith returns on her cheek.

When he curls up on his side with a hand tucked beneath his pillow, he falls asleep almost instantly. That night, he doesn't dream.

 

 

 

  
Christmas is a quiet affair.

In the morning, a sleepy Keith finds Krolia elbows deep in flour and promptly proceeds to help (read: purposefully get in the way) her with their yearly log cake. Despite several bumps along the road, the cake makes it into the oven on time while the filling and frosting sit safely in the fridge. Mother and son, however, come out of the kitchen looking like they had just fought a battle – and lost – with cocoa powder, powdered sugar, and eggs. Unsurprisingly, Krolia orders Keith to stay out of the kitchen when it comes to putting the cake together.

They watch a cheesy Christmas film, Keith with his head on Krolia’s lap while she patiently untangles Keith’s hair just so she can run her fingers through the strands.

They try eggnog – that adventure ends terribly –, only to settle for some firewhisky and two large fries from McDonald's that they drove 20 minutes to purchase.

It's not a white Christmas; in fact, it's wet and dreary. But Krolia casts a few charms out in the backyard and generates enough snow for them to build a snowman. Keith transfigures a couple of dead leaves into false teeth that he shoves into the snowman’s face, and Krolia bewitches its beady eyes to blink. Keith gives it pink rabbit ears and Krolia draws out a lopsided six-pack with the tip of her wand.

“His name shall be Maximilian,” Keith declares. “After Dad’s old pet rabbit.”

“Max was a lot cuter than this,” Krolia laughs, but she pulls Keith over to the snowman (snowbunny?) and takes a picture of the three of them with a swish of her wand.

Magic helps speed up dinner preparations, and before he knows it, Keith is full on roast vegetables and tender meat.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” He hands her a small package and leans over to kiss her on the cheek. “Love you.”

Inside the box is his father’s once-broken watch, given to him by Krolia on their sixth wedding anniversary. He had broken it on a boating trip and deemed it too difficult to repair, but was too sentimental to get rid of it. Keith unearthed it a few days after his passing and decided to hold onto it.

“I managed to fix it,” he says. “Well, Pidge helped, but so did I!”

Krolia handles the watch delicately, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face as she runs a fingertip along the weathered leather band.

“Thank you.” Her eyes are misty, but Keith doesn't think they're entirely sad tears. “This is a lovely gift, Keith.”

From her, Keith receives a small pebble. It's dark blue and smooth, the surface cool to the touch.

“Tap it twice with your wand,” Krolia says, flicking off the lights with a wave of her hand.

It takes a bit of fumbling around in the dark to track down his wand – lodged between the couch cushions – and Keith is almost bursting with curiosity when he finally gives the pebble a couple of taps.

It illuminates instantly, soft white light exploding out in all directions from the core of the stone.

“Look,” Krolia whispers, gesturing up at the ceiling.

Above, Keith sees the universe. Constellations fill the room and Keith is even able to glimpse a distant Neptune. Following Krolia's instructions, he swipes the pad of his finger across the surface of the stone and watches as the galaxy shoots past time, bringing him to another one with a whole new bound system of stars, stellar remnants, and interstellar gas.

“I know you've always loved the stars,” Krolia says. “Now you can bring the universe with you wherever you go.”

 

 

 

  
From his position on the couch, Keith can see tiny flakes of wallpaper peeling off the surface and a cobweb in the corner. He's hanging upside down off the seat, hoping that all the blood rushing to his head would aid him in figuring out what presents to get for his friends.

He hears Krolia enter the room, her soft footsteps stopping mere inches away from his ear.

“How's the thinking going?” She sounds amused. At least one of them isn't stressing out, Keith thinks wryly.

He sighs and flips himself back upright. “Not well. I mean, it's easy enough to buy something for Pidge and Hunk – I could just get them a broken down piece of equipment and they would love it, but the others…”

She ruffles his hair and wordlessly Summons her car keys, dangling them in front of his face with a grin. “Let's go look around. Maybe something will jump out at you?”

Well, that definitely sounds better than sitting at home and wasting away. Besides, any time spent with his mother is time well spent.

They walk around the mall for a good couple of hours, Krolia’s arm slung through the crook of Keith's elbow as they share an Oreo milkshake. It turns out to be a fruitful trip: he gets a couple of obnoxiously complicated Nerf guns for Lance and some expensive hair products for Allura. Lance’s parents have banned him from owning anymore Nerf guns – once, he had rampaged through the house and bruised _all_ of his siblings – and Allura has always had a fascination with Muggle hair products.

He writes to Shiro, begging for easy gift ideas for Lotor. The letters were written after a lot of consideration – Keith had half a mind not to get him anything, not after that entire mirror situation. Whenever he thinks of it (the mirror sits at the bottom of his trunk, wrapped up in a scarf), Keith never fails to flush horribly.

Shiro writes back almost immediately and tells him that Lotor likes to collect neckties. The next time he heads into town with his mother, he stops by the joke shop and purchases a necktie: it’s a bright yellow and honks when the knot is squeezed. For some reason, Krolia seems completely enamoured with it, so Keith buys her one too. On the way home, he stops at the computer hardware store and picks up a couple of broken components for Pidge and Hunk to tinker with, even throwing in a few extra motherboards on the off chance that Matt wants to join them.

“Wait, what about Shiro’s present?” Krolia asks later that night. Keith pauses, a spoonful of stew hovering mere centimetres from his mouth.

Great, that has Keith thinking about the damn mirror again.

“Uh,” he begins, praying that he isn’t flaming red, “I already have something for him.”

He’s going to kill Lotor.

Krolia raises an amused eyebrow and Keith’s stomach drops. Judging by that look on her face, Keith just knows that she has a good idea of what’s going on. She did, after all, figure out just how big Keith’s soft spot is for the man after she found all the letters from Shiro that Keith had kept. They were neatly bundled together and stored in a nice box under his bed – none of the letters from his other friends were given the same treatment. While she never confronted Keith about his feelings, her son’s reactions to Shiro’s name itself is confirmation enough.

Miraculously, she doesn’t say anything else, graciously letting Keith off of what would probably be a good bout of teasing.

 

 

 

  
“Have a great semester!” Krolia calls from the platform, voice floating through the open window of the compartment. “I hope _all_ your friends enjoy their presents!”

Keith doesn’t even have to look to know that his mother has a shit-eating grin on her face. He gives her his best unimpressed look as the train jerks into motion – sadly, the effect has long since dulled when it comes to his mother.

She disappears from view within seconds. Keith digs out his ancient iPod and slips his earbuds in, resigning himself to nine hours of staring out the window while the battery on his iPod steadily drains. He ends up nodding off a couple of hours in, head lolling against the seat as the locomotive trundles on.

Keith isn’t really a fan of naps – it leaves him groggy for the rest of the day and it messes up his hair even more than it usually is. But this nap turns out to be a blessing in disguise – by napping, he manages to avoid the ruckus that explodes out in the corridor halfway through the ride, courtesy of a few pranksters and a boatload of items from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

He wakes up just in time to see the last few fireworks go off and someone familiar walking by his compartment.

“Romelle?”

The Hufflepuff turns around, revealing a large black smudge on her left cheek and her blonde hair in an absolute mess.

“Keith! Hi!”

“You have a little…” He gestures to the spot on his own face.

“Yeah, I know. I got caught right in the middle of the mess.” She pulls a face and rubs absently at the smudge. “But I got to dock a bunch of points, so that’s nice!”

Keith can’t help but smile. “That’s great. Did you have a nice holiday?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! My parents and I went around Australia; I got to hug two koala bears at once! I also –” She pauses to glance over her shoulder. “Oh _no_. I have to deal with this, Keith. Those boys haven’t learned their lesson!”

Wand at the ready, she bolts down the corridor screeching bloody murder, her threats audible the next carriage over. Keith’s just started praying for the safety of the kids when the train jolts over the tracks, sending him knocking into the wall and the contents in his bag (magicked to hold more than it should be able to) to rattle violently.

Keith instantly worries for the state of the mirror – it takes him a few moments to register what exactly he’s feeling, but once he does, he flushes with annoyance and burrows deeper into his cloak. Shutting his eyes, he turns resolutely away from his bag and tries his best to focus on the music instead of the loud thumps of his heart.

Thanks to sheer willpower, Keith dozes off again and has another Shiro Dream that he very much enjoys, only to wake when the Hogwarts Express screeches to a stop in Hogsmeade. He shakes the image of Shiro’s face (cradled in his own hands) out of his mind and trundles out onto the platform, where a cold gust of wind slaps him in the face and chases away any remnants of sleep.

There’s a fresh layer of snow on the ground – Keith thinks of Shiro’s hair. Before climbing aboard, he gives his carriage’s thestral a pat on the muzzle and feels the jut of bone beneath his palm – Keith thinks of the sharp, jagged scar that runs across the bridge of Shiro’s nose. As they near Hogwarts, he catches sight of tiny twinkling lights adorning the castle’s exterior – Keith thinks of Shiro’s eyes.

As luck would have it, the first thing he sees when he steps into the Great Hall for some much-needed sustenance is Shiro. He’s standing up on a cleared space on the Slytherin table with his back to Keith, busy doing something with the decorations hanging overhead. There’s a box sitting on the floor and Lotor’s standing next to it, apparently giving Shiro instructions.

It’s creepy how easily Lotor spots Keith amongst the crowd of students.

A ghost of a smirk flits across Lotor’s sharp face but it’s gone as quickly as it appears, leaving Keith to wonder what his eyes actually saw. When Lotor gestures for him to join them, Keith hesitates for a moment before hiking his backpack further up his shoulders and making his way over to the Slytherin table.

“Hello,” Lotor greets, “I hope you had a great Christmas.”

“Yeah, it was nice.” Keith instinctively glances up at Shiro to see him smiling down at him, all warmth and perfection, sending the loveliest feeling rippling down his spine. “So, uh, what're you doing?”

“I've been tasked to help take down the decorations and of course Shiro offered to help.”

Shiro jumps down from the table and Keith watches happily as his cute little ponytail swings with the action.

“How's your mother doing? I hope she's well.”

“She's good; still healing, but she's a strong woman.”

“I don't doubt that. Like mother, like son.”

Keith is just about to stutter out something embarrassing when Lotor clears his throat and gestures to the box by his feet. “Shiro, do you wanna store that mistletoe or are you planning on, ah, embracing the tradition?”

It’s like a cheesy budget rom-com, the way both Keith and Shiro glance down at the sprig of mistletoe in Shiro’s hands before they look up at each other in perfect synchrony. Through the screaming going on in Keith’s mind, he catches sight of Shiro’s eyes flicking down to his lips before a healthy flush is dragged across the highest points of his cheekbones.

Lotor looks between them and mutters an incredulous, “I can’t believe this.”

Just then, a fifth year that has been watching the scene unfold in front of her very eyes leans across the table and says, “Shiro, don’t be shy. There’s nothing wrong with kissing your own boyfriend.”

Lotor shrieks with gleeful laughter and the sound makes Keith want to whack Lotor across the face with a Beater’s bat.

“But we’re not together,” Shiro manages to splutter.

The girl shakes her head patiently and says, “Practically all of us know by now – you guys really don’t have to keep it a secret any longer.”

Nowhere near ready to deal with this, Keith does the first thing that pops into his mind. He flees, making a beeline for the safety of the rest of his friends already seated at the Gryffindor table.

 

 

 

  
By the time he’s a few steps out of the Great Hall, his mortification has long since faded. Thankfully, neither Shiro nor Lotor mentioned the mistletoe fiasco when they came over to the table for dinner, thus giving Keith the chance to recover. Keith is just about to turn a corner when an origami swan flies up to him and perches on his upturned palm. The charm wears off once Keith touches the wing and it unfolds to reveal a neatly written message.

_keith; meet me up in the astronomy tower at 9?_

_\- shiro :)_

A quick check of his watch tells Keith that it’s half past eight, which means that he has just enough time to shower before meeting Shiro. It’s hard to ignore the fluttering in his chest as he hurries back to the common room – his favourite person _and_ place in the castle? That’s a deadly combination.

He spends a good amount of time under a stream of water, dumping all sorts of potions on his hair and down his body in hopes that the combination results in something good.

A quick drying spell later and his hair is ridiculously fluffy, the odd chunk sticking out here and there despite his best efforts to tame them without products. Grumbling, Keith yanks a beanie over his head and prays it doesn't make him look like an egg swathed in fabric.

The mere act of waving his wand and watching as the strip of red ribbon curls into a bow has him cringing at himself. But it's too late to rethink this stupid idea, so Keith grabs the bow and Lotor’s present before striding out of the common room.

The waning moon is high and heavy in the sky, pulling Keith's attention towards it as he slowly ascends the stairs. It casts its glow – always soft, never harsh – across the grounds, some slivers slipping through the spaces in the structure of the tower and gracing Keith's frame.

Shiro is already there, hair fluttering in the wind and cloak rippling around his ankles as he leans out over the crenellated ramparts. There's a long package resting against his thigh, wrapped neatly with a bow.

He turns around just as Keith clears the last step, shadows obscuring the light that Keith knows is present in his eyes.

“Hi,” Shiro says. “You made it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Listen, I want to apologise on Erin’s behalf. She doesn't know –”

“It's okay,” Keith interrupts. “It’s not too hard to see where she's coming from. We are quite close, after all.”

Shiro studies him for a moment before nodding, expression relaxing into one of ease.

“I have something for you,” he says excitedly, reaching down to pick up the parcel. He holds it out towards Keith as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “Merry Christmas, Keith!”

Inside the parcel is a broomstick. But it's not just any broomstick, it's the newest model from what is generally regarded as the best broom maker in the industry.

“Oh my god,” Keith whispers, feeling like he's just flown a hundred miles at breakneck speed. “This is – this must have cost you a fortune! There's no way I can accept this, Shiro.”

“But I had your name engraved on the handle. Who will this belong to if not you?”

Keith traces the loops and curves of his name with his thumb.

“I know how much you like being in the air, being that much closer to the stars. You've been through a lot these past few years, so I thought you deserved to have something you loved.”

God, it's so hard not to burst out in hysterical laughter _and_ tears.

“You got me the best broomstick in the world and I got you –” Keith sighs, pulling his beanie off just to run fingers through his hair. “I was gonna give you me.”

“What?”

Keith winces. “Yeah, I know. Stupid, right? I didn't know what to get you, and Lotor put this bloody idea in my head –”

“No, Keith, I didn't say that. I just don't understand what you meant.”

Helpless, Keith reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ribbon, which he promptly slaps onto his own forehead.

He stands there in silence, resolutely staring down at his feet, and refuses to think about what might be going on in Shiro's mind. The tails of the bow tickle his cheeks, but Keith pretends not to feel it.

After what seems like an eon, Shiro speaks.

“Keith? Will you look at me?”

Keith has always found it hard to say no to Shiro.

“I love it.”

_Wait. What?_

“It's the best present anyone has ever given me.” Shiro reaches over and plucks the bow off of Keith's forehead. “Can I keep this?”

With his voice refusing to cooperate, Keith can only nod.

“We've been fools, haven't we?” Shiro continues, smoothing out the ends of the ribbon. “I’ve never been scared, not when it comes to you, so I’m a little confused as to why we’re in this position.”

“I don’t think we really got the chance to discover ‘us’ outside of friendship. I can’t really speak for you, but the day I realised I had feelings for you, I wasn’t ready whatsoever. Young, inexperienced, not willing to give up a precious friendship – and all of a sudden, I had to leave. You know, I did think that perhaps distance apart would be the solution to the monstrous crush I had on you, but your letters were the only thing that kept me going some days. You were – still are – more than a crush to me, ever since that first day we met when I was a scrawny second-year trying to beat up Griffin and you pulled us apart.

“Then I came back and it’s almost like I never left. You were still there for me when I needed you most. Apart from the letters, we hadn’t spoken to each other in two years and you still knew just what to say to me. I’ve always wanted more, I just either never had a good opportunity to ask, nor did I know how to go about asking for it.”

“Hey, you know that I would give you anything you wanted, right?” Shiro is gazing at him with such affection that Keith can’t handle it anymore.

He holds up his brand new broomstick and clears his throat. “In that case, would you like to take a ride with me?”

 

 

 

  
It’s a great broom – life-changing, even –, but Keith is too focused on the warmth of Shiro’s front against his back to really care about the specs of a broomstick right now.

He takes them up into the sky, cruising just high enough to see Hogwarts’ lights look like pinpricks standing out against a sheet of dark velvet. They meander between towers and turrets, dropping down to glide beneath arches and through gaps like a thread running through the eyehole of a needle.

Shiro rests his chin on the sharp line of Keith’s shoulder, fingers laced gently over the fire currently raging in the pit of Keith’s belly.

“It’s beautiful up here,” Keith says in an attempt to distract himself. They’re flying low over the grounds now – they can see the pumpkin patch in the distance.

He hears Shiro’s thoughtful hum in his left ear.

“Yeah,” Shiro says. The broom veers off to the left when Keith feels the faintest brush of lips against the shell of his ear. “From what my eyes can see, it really is beautiful up here.”

It’s with great difficulty that Keith brings them back to the Astronomy Tower. He dismounts with a horrible lack of grace, stumbling right into Shiro’s back when he does. He’s about to apologise when Shiro turns and pulls him into a warm, tight hug.

“This doesn’t feel different,” Shiro says. “You and I – we’re a different ‘us’ now, but this still feels exactly the same.”

“Maybe the old ‘us’ isn’t as different from the new ‘us’ as we had thought,” Keith breathes, pushing his face deeper into Shiro’s chest and filling his lungs with one of his favourite scents in the world (Krolia’s apple pie is #1).

His lungs are about to explode when Shiro leans back just enough to slip a hand under Keith’s chin. A crooked index finger nudges Keith’s head up, a slightly calloused thumb coming to rest on the swell of Keith’s bottom lip when his mouth parts instinctively. Shiro swallows and Keith tracks the movement with his eyes.

“Can I?”

“In the name of all that is holy, please do.”

It's probably cliché as hell to say this, but it's really nothing short of magical when their lips finally meet. There are no fireworks going off in the air above them, nor are there sparks flying out of Keith’s wand from where it’s tucked in his pocket, but the closest thing that Keith has ever felt to this was the sheer wonder when he found out that magic was real.

Shiro doesn't hold back, hands steady on either side of Keith's face as he slides his tongue into Keith's pliant mouth. Keith happily goes along for the ride.

He's lightheaded when they part, lips kiss-bruised and cheeks flushed with warmth.

“Okay, _that_ was different.”

“A good difference?”

“A great difference,” Keith nods.

Shiro's face breaks out into the most heartwarming smile Keith has ever seen – it yanks right on his heartstrings and Keith surges forward to kiss him again.

“I guess I actually have to thank Lotor after all,” Keith mumbles against Shiro's lips. Strong hands settle on the dips of his waist and when Keith feels Shiro smile, he can’t help but smile too.

 

 

 

  
Keith steps through the Fat Lady’s portrait and immediately comes face to face with Shiro. The Slytherin is practically glowing, eyes bright, a heart of gold, and hair a river of silver that Keith wants to run his fingers through. So he does, stepping into Shiro’s personal space – because he can, now – and slipping all ten fingers through the strands, starting from the hairline and down to the base of his skull. Shiro’s hair is impossibly soft, strands trickling through the gaps between his fingers, and Keith thinks he could do this for hours.

“Good morning,” Shiro says, smiling down at him. He doesn’t seem to care whatsoever that Keith is messing up his hair.

“Hi,” Keith replies, all happy. “What are you doing here?”

“Walking with you to breakfast!” Shiro answers, as if that should be obvious. “Finished my rounds with a little extra time to spare.”

“You came all the way up here just to go all the way back down again?”

Shiro crooks an eyebrow and leans down to kiss him, heedless of the students walking past or the many portraits surrounding them. The Fat Lady is the only one who reacts, letting out an embarrassingly loud squeal.

“It’s just a few flights of stairs,” Shiro points out. “I can climb a few flights of stairs to see you.”

“I’ll meet you tomorrow,” Keith promises. “Just send me a memo of where your rounds end.”

“Tomorrow? Probably the dungeons. But you don’t like the dungeons.”

“Yeah, but I like you.” That smear of red across Shiro’s cheeks is lovely and completely worth the cheese.

Hands linked, they head down to the Great Hall. Their friends are already there, Allura shrieking at the top of her lungs when Lance fires his Nerf gun at her – the dart bounces off her arm and lands right on her eggs.

Matt is there too, squished between his sister and Hunk. All three have horribly dark bags under their eyes.

“Wow, what happened to the three of you?”

“Keith’s presents kept us up all night,” Pidge drones, her small hands wrapped around a mega-sized mug of coffee. “Ah, Keith. My Santa. Thank you so much.”

Keith snorts, settling into his seat and reaching out for a slice of French toast. Across the table, Lotor rests his chin on the heel of his hand and grins.

“I love my present, by the way.” Lotor adjusts the necktie around his neck, making sure to squeeze the knot. The honk scares a bunch of second-years down the table and Allura pinches him in the side reproachfully.

“I’m glad,” Keith says, dumping a spoonful of beans onto Shiro’s plate. Shiro gives him some fried tomatoes in return. “Had to ask for expert advice.”

Shiro pours pumpkin juice into their goblets and reaches over to thumb at a spot of butter on the corner of Keith’s mouth before sucking it off the digit. None of their friends even blink an eye in response to the action. Well, Lotor is still grinning like a madman, but he stays silent in favour of watching them.

“Shut up,” Keith says primly.

“You’re welcome,” Lotor nods.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes:
> 
> 1) Keith is seventeen and Shiro is eighteen!  
> 2) Amaryllis symbolize splendid beauty while gardenias symbolize secret love.  
> 3) It's not mentioned in the fic but Shiro is the Keeper for his Quidditch team. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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